I will not forget either of my families.

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It had not occurred to Tony that staring at Ziva's empty desk day after day after day would be difficult, but he finds out soon enough. There is no life there. All the drawers and shelves are empty, all traces of her gone. She spent eight years sitting across from him. For that spot to suddenly be vacant is just plain eerie.

So are the long stretches of silence that fill the bullpen now. He remembers this from the summer before Somalia; conversations between him and McGee tend to fade out. Ziva, for all her eye rolls and comments on her coworkers' childishness, was the one who kept the banter going until Gibbs started delivering head slaps. Her return to the office back then was a relief for many reasons, one of them being that she simply managed to make everything more fun.

Now, work feels like exactly that: work.

He is there, at NCIS, combing through a murder victim's credit card records, when an instant message suddenly appears on his screen. His heart jumps into his throat. He dares to hope.

And, yes- there is her name. Surely no four letters have ever elicited such excitement and relief in anybody before this moment.

Tony takes a moment to breathe in deeply, glance around, make sure Gibbs and McGee are still down in the lab. Then he peeks at her message.

Is this a good time?

Anytime is a good time, he types back without hesitation. They have not spoken in several days, not since the night he returned to D.C. He will take whatever she gives, whenever she gives it. How's the soul-searching?

I am about to board a flight to Argentina.

What're you doing there?

There is a pause before her reply comes, just long enough to make him a little nervous.

I suppose I will find out.

He exhales.

Then, to follow: I miss you, Tony.

He feels his jaw clench involuntarily as he writes, then come home. But he stops just short of sending it. Chewing on his lower lip, he debates with himself. He is in pain; she is in pain; this whole situation is just fucking painful, and it would all be resolved if she found her way back into his arms.

Or maybe it wouldn't. Maybe she's right, and this journey really is a necessary step to take if she is going to move forward with her life.

Tony erases the words and replaces them with something less pushy. More raw. Miss you, too. More than you know.

He tears up when her response appears on the screen.

I think I do know. Boarding now. I will talk to you soon. xo

And she logs off.

He slowly turns away from the computer and back to the credit card printouts, but he can no longer concentrate. His mind has returned to where it always ends up, to his worries and fears and damn it, Ziva, and I love you, Ziva, and where the hell do I go from here?

0000000000

It took them a lot longer to return to the house than it had to walk out to the grove, because they kept stopping to share light kisses. Their hands became more adventurous with each passing moment, it seemed, and by the time they stumbled across the threshold, lips locked, there was no question about the direction in which this was headed.

When his warm fingers slipped beneath the hem of her shirt and caressed the small of her back, Ziva gasped into his mouth. She allowed herself to indulge in his touch for only a couple of seconds; then she pulled away. He attempted to recapture her lips, but she reached up and held his face steady. Their eyes never left each other as they struggled to breathe.

"Please," he gasped, tugging her closer so that she was flush against him. "Please don't stop this."

"Don't you think this will make it harder for you to leave me?" she asked. She was not particularly enjoying being the voice of reason here, not when her body and soul were both thrumming with desire. But she was dangerously close to breaking his heart- and her own- already. She feared for how shattered they would be if they got a glimpse of what could have been, only to have it ripped away.

"It's gonna be awful," Tony said, causing her heart to twinge, "regardless of what we do or don't do."

She exhaled. "What do you want, Tony?"

"You." He tugged her closer. "All I want is you."

The backs of Ziva's eyes burned. She kissed him, long and hard and passionate, and silently prayed for the day when she could hand herself, whole, over to him.

0000000000

In Argentina, she decides that the beach is a good place to start.

Ziva has always loved the ocean, ever since she saw it for the first time at five years old. Back then, she just thought it was pretty: the blue, the sun, the way it brought joy into her father's face when she had begun to think he had no happiness in him. And it is still beautiful, yes, of course it is… but now, as she trudges toward the water, struggling to lift her feet as sand weighs down her shoes, she knows that she is here for another reason.

The walk is not easy. She nearly runs into a couple too wrapped up in each other to pay attention to their surroundings. She has no business feeling jealous- it was her decision to leave Tony, after all- but she cannot help it. A mere week ago, she had somebody by her side, too. Somebody who begged her to come home with him; somebody who offered to give up everything he had, everything he was, to be with her.

When she averts her eyes from the couple, she finds her gaze landing on a family with two young children. The kids are laughing. The parents look on proudly. From the outside, they appear to be the perfect family.

Perfect.

She wonders if anybody ever looked at the David family and thought such a thing. To those who only spared a fleeting glance, they may have appeared that way.

Perception is a funny thing. It depends solely on one's point of view. She cannot begin to count the number of times she has wished for a different one.

Raising her chin and squaring her shoulders, she continues her trek, her paces growing quicker, more urgent. When the shoreline comes into view, she releases a breath she had not realized she was holding, then kicks off her shoes and wades ankle-deep into the water.

Ziva closes her eyes. Tilts her head back. Yellow and orange spots dance behind her eyelids. Her muscles loosen up; for the first time in far too long, she finds herself growing calm. A peace like she's never known before settles within her. A few more seconds pass before a wave comes in, crashing against her calves, cooling her bare toes.

She laughs out loud. A genuine laugh. And that- that is why she is here. Because her childhood was not easy. It was not terribly joyful, or carefree, or innocent. But whenever she was at the beach, she felt removed from all of that.

At the beach, she could always pretend.

More water cascades over her feet. Ziva allows her heels to sink into the moist sand, a gentle sigh escaping her lips.

Pretending used to be her lifeline.

But she is so very, very tired of it now.

Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, alerted, etc. Hope you all like this chapter as much as the first!